Chapter 7
TORI
There are few aspects of boarding-school life I hate as much as the morning run, but table duty definitely comes close.
It must be some kind of bad joke that I’m paired with Olive of all people to get to the dining room ahead of everyone else this week and set the tables for our year group.
And, sadly, at breakfast time, that doesn’t mean you’re let off the morning run, you just have twenty minutes less for a shower and getting dressed.
Olive simply nods as I mumble hello, and proceeds to ignore me. I can’t stand it, and the worst part of this whole thing is that I don’t understand how things got like this between me and her.
I can positively feel Olive’s anger. She’s putting the cups and plates down on the long tables with more of a slam than necessary.
Normally, we’d be chatting and working so slowly that Joseph would have to yell from the kitchen several times for us to get on with it, but today it’s the exact opposite.
We set the tables in silence and collect the bread baskets, teapots and coffee jugs from the kitchen in silence.
Olive stares at the floor every time we come close.
I’m not totally certain, but it looks like she’s been crying.
‘Is everything OK?’ I ask quietly, once we’ve finished, and Olive stops by the table for a moment.
She doesn’t answer, just sighs barely audibly. I see her roll her eyes in irritation and it’s a stomach punch.
‘Livy,’ I plead.
‘I’ve got nothing to say to you, Tori.’
‘Yes, you do. Don’t lie to me, Olive. Please. Can we just talk about whatever the problem is?’
‘There’s no problem.’
‘Do you really not care?’ I can’t help raising my voice. ‘About anything? Your friends, your classes . . . me?’
Olive’s face is composed and the look in her green eyes is ice cold. ‘Well, no, if you really want to know, no . . . I guess I don’t.’
Her words land like a blow to my heart but I try not to let that show.
‘Why would you say a thing like that?’ I whisper.
‘Because it’s the truth,’ she replies, and her voice breaks on the last word.
Because she’s lying. Because I’ve known Olive Henderson for more than six years now and I know, for reasons that make absolutely no sense to me, she always thinks she has to sort everything out for herself.
She’s not doing well, anyone can see she’s not, but instead of letting anyone help her, she’s pushing away everyone who means anything to her.
Or else I’m totally wrong about Olive. About our friendship. I don’t know which idea is more painful.
For a moment we stand there motionless, facing each other. Then Olive turns away as people start to walk into the dining room.
Only a few weeks ago, I’d have had no hesitation about following my friend.
This time, it takes a few seconds for my legs to start moving as if of their own accord.
I don’t know what to say to Olive. She just made it utterly clear that she doesn’t want to talk to me, but I can’t just stand there and act like nothing happened.
I dodge groups of juniors, but by the time I reach the double doors, it’s like Olive’s vanished off the face of the earth. Instead, I run slap into Val.
‘Hey.’ He drops back behind his friends and comes over to me. ‘Forgotten something?’
‘What?’ I mumble, standing still as I really can’t see Olive anywhere in the old cloisters. ‘Sorry, no, I . . . Doesn’t matter.’
‘You look good today,’ Val says, right out of the blue.
I freeze. I’m waiting for him to add something to his compliment like Joke, ha-ha, you should see your face, but nothing of the kind happens.
‘Thank you,’ I say, so hesitantly that it almost sounds like a question.
‘Wow, I guess accepting compliments isn’t your strong point.’ Val laughs. ‘We’ll have to practise that.’ He puts an arm round me and pulls me into the dining room. My smile is somewhat forced. ‘So, what’s up?’
‘Nothing.’ I get some words out at last. ‘I was on table duty.’
‘Pain in the arse.’ He groans.
‘How was training yesterday?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, good. What are you doing at the weekend? We’ll be down in the Dungeon on Friday night. Want to come?’
He looks so expectantly at me that I nod, but the upper sixth’s party cellar is just about the last place on earth I’d voluntarily spend time.
‘Sure,’ I say anyway, because I don’t want to disappoint Val.
I guess I can manage an hour or so with him in the school’s old undercroft before crawling back to bed.
‘Perfect. I’ll message you.’ He lets me go. ‘How did the auditions turn out, by the way? Louis and Eleanor?’
Val doesn’t know? How is that even possible, given the way gossip runs through this school like wildfire? But, sure, he was at rugby training yesterday evening. Maybe he really hasn’t heard. I didn’t see him anywhere at dinner last night.
He turns to face me. ‘Someone else get it? I’d laugh if it was someone from the lower sixth instead of Eleanor.’
‘No, she got the part,’ I say colourlessly.
‘And Romeo?’
I wish I could just shut my eyes and be somewhere else. ‘Sinclair.’
This is ridiculous.
‘Sinclair?’ Val repeats incredulously. Then he bursts into unkind laughter. ‘Shit, they’re two of a kind. Isn’t he into her?’
Val’s question feels like someone’s slipped a very sharp blade between my ribs and is slowly twisting it. I shrug brusquely. ‘No idea.’
‘Ha. Well, maybe he’ll leave you alone now,’ Val says.
I feel kind of sick. If only he knew that that’s exactly what I’m worried about.
My best pal and the woman he’s secretly smitten with, playing the most famous lovers in history.
They’ll get to spend heaps of time together in the next few months.
Get to know each other, rehearse together .
. . Shit, they’re going to kiss. My blood runs cold.
Sinclair’s going to kiss Eleanor Attenborough, after which I’ll have to applaud with the rest of the school.
‘So, are you glad you didn’t embarrass yourself by auditioning?’
I try not to flinch. Like I hadn’t spent half the night lying awake and imagining how the afternoon would have turned out if I’d just found the guts to get up on the stage.
I might not have got Juliet, but I would have had a chance at the Nurse at least, or Lady Capulet.
But, no, now I’m nothing at all, except frustrated and fucked off with Eleanor and Sinclair.
And myself. And – if I’m honest – maybe a bit with Val too.
If it had been me, I’m pretty sure I’d have encouraged him to do what he wanted to, not convinced him that he wasn’t good enough anyway.
‘Don’t you seriously think I’d have had a chance?’ I ask.
Val looks at me. ‘Well, you’ve got no acting experience, have you?’
I shrug. ‘Neither has Sinclair.’
‘Exactly. He’s going to make such a tit of himself. No way you could want the same thing.’
I gulp. What makes him think he knows what I want and don’t want?
‘You’ll thank me one day,’ he declares, giving me a friendly slap on the shoulder as he turns away. ‘At least by the summer holidays, by the time the whole school’s laughing at that play.’
SINCLAIR
There actually are a few people at this school who are less happy than I am that I’ve got this stupid leading role.
Hard to imagine, but it’s true. Next time the scriptwriting club meets, the air is so thick you could cut it with one of the blunt butter knives from the dining room.
Florence looks jittery, while Amara, Quentin and Ho-wing are more despairing.
‘Romeo, for fuck’s sake . . . I don’t know how you think this is going to work,’ Ho-wing repeats. ‘By the end there’ll be a rehearsal every day.’
‘Yeah, by the end,’ I say. ‘But the script will be finished by then and we won’t have as much to do.’
‘Sinclair, I think you’re underestimating this,’ Florence suggests. ‘There are only five of us and we’re so late with the script. Any other year, the whole thing would have been finished for ages by now.’
‘We can write in parallel to the rehearsals,’ I suggest. ‘That could actually work out really well – if I’m one of the actors while we’re working on the text, it’ll make everything way more natural.’
‘It’ll be total chaos,’ says Amara.
‘I’ve been thinking and I reckon we have to split the roles.’ Florence looks at me.
‘Split them?’ I echo. ‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s a reason for having the drama club and the scriptwriting team separate. I don’t think it’s a good idea to mix the two.’
‘Meaning?’
‘I think you have to decide which you want to do.’
She’s serious. I open my mouth but I can’t speak.
‘Unless you disagree?’ Florence turns to Amara, Quentin and Ho-wing who, obviously, stab me in the back. They shake their heads.
‘That’s not fair,’ I blurt. ‘You said it wouldn’t be a problem if I—’
‘If you got a bit part, yeah,’ Quentin interrupts. ‘But we had no idea that Mr Acevedo would go and make you Romeo.’
I drop both elbows to my knees, shut my eyes and massage the bridge of my nose.
I’d love to say something like You’ll never manage this without me, but sadly I’m not that self-deluded.
I know that Florence is probably right. That there are presumably reasons why the main cast don’t work on the script and vice versa.
‘Anyway, you’re in the lower sixth.’ Florence is sounding a bit more conciliatory now. ‘You can be involved in scriptwriting again next year.’
Or I could have a part next year instead.
Maybe that would be more sensible anyway.
Eleanor, Louis and the others in the upper sixth didn’t make me feel like I was robbing them of anything, but I still feel guilty.
Besides, it would probably be less problematic because then I wouldn’t be playing opposite Eleanor.
It would be Tori – because if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that I’m not going to stand by and watch her put herself down like that and not audition.
Even I managed to do it, and I was totally unprepared.